


Trinket

by wecarryoninmindpalaces



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail is a Cannibal, Alana knows, Fake backstory, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Will is a Cannibal, Will spoils Abigail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1500230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wecarryoninmindpalaces/pseuds/wecarryoninmindpalaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dad!" Abigail rises from the dinner table when the door slams shut, Will shedding his jacket and dumping his car keys into the bowl on top of the buffet by the door.<br/>"Hello, my dear." Will only smiles, pulling her in for a kiss on her forehead, "Hello, Hannibal."<br/>"Will," Hannibal's smile can be heard as he tenderizes the meat of his latest kill. "And how was work?"<br/>"Very good, thank you," his husband nods, turning to their surrogate daughter, "I've brought you a gift, Abigail."<br/>"Papa said you might."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trinket

**Author's Note:**

> OK this really doesn't take place in any real time frame of the show, I just like the idea of Will succumbing to the dark side and Abigail being there to see it, okay? Read on!

The Lecter-Graham family was perfect in every possible way, the neighbors claimed. There were no visible flaws, not one, as far as they could tell.

The patriarch, Hannibal Lecter-Graham, was a well-known psychiatrist, on the older side though no one disagreed he must have been a ladies' man in his younger years. He was kind, but reserved, his clothing reflecting the air of elegance he carried wherever he went, never without his iPad or black book, always praising others before himself. He was the man every woman, and man, desired in a spouse. 

The daughter, Abigail Hobbs, was Hannibal's and his former wife's child, who had divorced before she was even born, hence the different surname. Her mother died of cancer when she was only twelve, leaving her in Hannibal's capable hands. The two were close, as close as any father and daughter, as if there were an unspoken bond between them, words between the lines of conversation and body language. She held no resemblance to her father, whom she called Papa, though they both agreed she was all her mother, with chestnut hair and pale complexion and big blue china doll eyes.

Which led the neighbors to the always interesting topic of William Lecter-Graham, who would have passed as Abigail's father with no doubts, his chocolate hair and baby blue eyes in sync with his stepdaughter's. The neighbors assumed Hannibal still was not over his former wife and took company in men who resembled her, as both men agreed Hannibal and Alana, they believed her name was, divorced because he was gay. No one knew what William's profession was, he had said he was in hospice care back east, a man with great empathy for the dying, though Hannibal and Abigail also mentioned he was a teacher. He loved his family, it was the obvious, as every Monday Abigail headed to the local cafe with them and their daughters bearing a new necklace or ring, telling them her fathers loved antiquing on the weekends, citing jewelry today would not withstand. 

"Dad found Papa's wedding band in an antique shop in Maryland," she told them one day, "it was the wedding ring of a stockbroker, he had to pawn it after the crash, and eventually killed himself. People found it cursed, Dad found it charming." she laughed, the mothers awkwardly chuckling as their daughters exchanged glances. "Papa went to an estate sale for Dad's." 

"Where did Will find that ring, Abi?" one of the girls cooed, ignoring the grimace on Abigail's face. 

"Dad found this one... in Portland?" she wiggled her ring finger, the peach cameo ring turning in a little, "We still need to have it fitted properly, but I couldn't resist wearing it." 

* * *

 

Months later, Will was driving home, his hands lax at the steering wheel, as if he were floating. The day was over, and it was high time for him to return to his perfect family, in their perfect house, with their perfect life. 

"Dad!" Abigail rose from the dinner table when the door slammed shut, Will shedding his jacket and dumping his car keys into the bowl on top of the buffet by the door.

"Hello, my dear." he only smiled, pulling her in for a kiss on her forehead, "Hello, Hannibal."

"Will," his back to his family, though Hannibal's smile could be heard as he tenderized the meat of his latest kill. "And how was work?"

"Very good, thank you," his husband nodded, turning to their surrogate daughter, "I've brought you a gift, Abigail."

"Papa said you might." she rocked back and forth on her heels. 

"Papa was right." he smiled, placing a heavy ring in her hand. "From the woman that lived in the USSR, she wanted you to have this." it was silver, with a seemingly unreal pearl placed in the center, with two gaping squares on either side, with grey diamonds lining the top and bottom. 

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, "Where is she?" 

"She went peacefully, if you'd like to know." Will drawled, "I took an arm and a leg, thought you could make something out of it for Sunday brunch. The rest is to be burned." 

"Of course." 

Will did work in hospice, specifically the women and men who had no existing bloodline, those who were waiting for death to snatch them up and had no last will and testament. He gave them peace, gave them a sense of belonging, telling story after story of his youth, of his life before Hannibal, of what Hannibal said the night before at dinner, of what courses Abigail despised in college, all before they begged for assisted suicide, placing their last few earthly treasures in his hands, giving all the best wishes for him and his husband and their lovely daughter before he turned off the machine, before he injected an overdose into the IV drip, before they could make another split second decision. The hospice offered cremation or a not so proper burial, but most of Will's patients cited him as the claimer of their body, ripping a page from Garrett Jacob Hobbs' book of honoring his victims as food. 

Will leaned against the counter top, placing a kiss on the corner of Hannibal's mouth, enjoying the way the corners quirked up. Hannibal was proud, more than proud, of his beloved husband. More lovely than any painting, more melodious than any composition, William Lecter-Graham was Hannibal's design in every sense of the word.

"Nothing for me, I suppose?" Hannibal leaned back as Will reached for the dinner plates in the cabinet across from his work station. 

"Now when did I say that?" Will smiled, "When will you ever learn to be patient, Dr. Lecter-Graham?" he loved the way his name sounded on the end of his husband's. He was the morphine after the gunshot wound, the ice after the sting, the comforter after the punishment. "No, I have something very nice for you." Will placed his plate on Hannibal's right, Abigail's the left, with their patriarch at the head, right where they both agreed he belonged, and placed a rather colorful Faberge egg where the candlestick would sit. "She said it was too lovely to let sit in an auction. Happy birthday, darling." and kissed Hannibal once more, earning an eye roll from their daughter, who went back to her textbook. 

"I do love you, my dear Will." Hannibal allowed his eyes to close, to let the man take the chance of snatching the knife and ultimately his life. Nothing had changed, really. The idea was exhilarating, to die by the hand of his husband made it all the more poetic. There was an unspoken oath between the men, one that Abigail did not even know of.

Will contemplated the older man's offering, the knife already halfway in his hand, the blade recently sharpened. It would be clean, and it would be righteous. ...Though Will decided against it, sticking the knife in the carving board instead, placing his free hand on the back of his husband's neck. "...And I, you, my darling Hannibal." he turned to Abigail, "You know, we could have two gemstones placed inside, any ideas?" 

"I want yours and Papa's birthstones." she replied almost instantly, her mind set. 

The two men smiled at their daughter, brimming with pride. "You know," Hannibal took a plate and filled it with pasta, topping it off with a handmade sauce and meatballs, "if you went to work with your father, you could pick whatever you liked."

Abigail shrugged, taking her plate over to fill, "I like surprises."

"Which reminds me," Will commented, rolling Hannibal's meatball onto his own plate with a fork, "What are we eating?"

"Angel hair pasta with a traditional marinara and basil sauce, with New York styled meatballs an old friend taught me how to prepare." 

"And what's the meat?"

Hannibal chuckled, his eyes gleaming, "Ground Chuck, of course." 

And the two only chuckled, cutting in with the sauce for a bite.


End file.
